


All the time in the world

by gayshiit



Series: don’t lock the door [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Dry Humping, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Good Significant Other, Smut, Soft Richie Tozier, he just really wants to make sure eddie’s ok, like loads of consent, like really really drawn out smut, richie is besotted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayshiit/pseuds/gayshiit
Summary: “Rich?” He’s feeling brave tonight for no particular reason. Maybe it’s a completely inappropriate time, or maybe the serenity of the situation is helping add to Eddie’s rising confidence. Either way, he’s confronting this right now, and he really can’t see himself backing down.Richie hums in recognition.“I want you to touch me.”Or, Richie is always too fucking concerned so Eddie has to take matters into his own hands
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: don’t lock the door [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795315
Comments: 12
Kudos: 162





	All the time in the world

**Author's Note:**

> read part 1 first!!
> 
> this whole thing is literally just really REALLY drawn out smut but it’s cute because richie loves eddie so much and wants to make sure he’s ok all the time and yeah that’s all

The first time Eddie actually sleeps over at Richie’s apartment is the same night that he kisses him for the first time.

Eddie makes himself a bed on the couch, which is admittedly not the most comfortable sleeping arrangement, but he flat-out refuses to take Richie’s bed when it’s offered to him, so that argument is settled pretty quickly. There’s no doubt in Eddie’s mind that either of them would particularly care if he slept in Richie’s bed, with Richie in it, of course. He almost laughs aloud to himself imagining the way Richie would be lying: straight as a board and as far away from Eddie as is physically possible in a twin-sized bed, purely out of consideration. The knowledge makes Eddie go a little weak in the knees, even though he’s spread out on his back across the three-person sofa in Richie’s living room. He trusts Richie a questionably large amount already, after only knowing him for a few months, but he supposes that’s his own fault for throwing so much of himself at Richie in such a short period of time. To his delight, Richie has so far managed to catch and juggle every single piece of himself that Eddie has tossed in his direction, no matter how jagged or pointed at the edges.

So, yeah, Eddie is pretty much infatuated, and he’s only kissed the guy twice.

He falls asleep that night with a giddy smile on his lips and the silhouette of a certain six-foot-something, dark haired man with stupidly big glasses in his dreams.

It’s safe to say that Eddie and Richie do a lot of kissing from that point onwards. It’s convenient that they live in the same building, and even more convenient that Richie gives Eddie a key to his apartment, because, despite Eddie’s freakout that one time, he still insists Richie locks his goddamn door at night.

So Eddie breaks into Richie’s apartment an embarrassing amount of times, and they make out an embarrassing amount of times; on the couch, on Richie’s bed, sometimes in the hallway leading into the living room because apparently they’re a couple of horny teenagers who can’t contain themselves long enough to take a few steps into the lounge.

It’s good, of course. It’s more than good; it’s the best thing Eddie’s probably ever done in his life. But as fucking amazing as it all is, Eddie never lets it progress further than kissing. 

Once or twice, during their more desperate, heated makeout sessions, Richie will accidentally grind down against Eddie, and Eddie will gasp and pull away, throwing Richie into a tirade of apologies and “are you okay?”s. Eddie is never _not_ okay. He’s just… he’s not sure how to describe how he feels, really. Embarrassed? Scared? Not of Richie, per se, but of himself and the knowledge of what he wants? Maybe a little.

He’s decided to push the deliberation of his own sexuality into a far corner at the very back of his mind, where it’s rapidly becoming covered in dust and dirt and cobwebs; momentarily forgotten. He tells himself he’s not ready to confront it fully yet, but in reality, he knows he’s just scared, and by ignoring it he’s only delaying the inevitable.

But still, he somehow has no trouble kissing the fuck out of Richie goddamn Tozier.

Although he would be perfectly content to, Eddie doesn’t want to just keep making out with Richie forever and never let it progress any further. He’s a fully grown adult, for fucks sake. Richie knows he’s a virgin, and he still miraculously hasn’t laughed in his face about it, but Eddie can’t help the wave of humiliation that crashes over him whenever he feels himself getting too turned on and he has to lean their foreheads together to catch his breath and tell Richie to stop.

The thing is, he doesn’t _want_ to stop. He wants Richie to keep kissing him, keep pressing him against the mattress or the couch or the wall and do whatever the fuck he wants with him. It’s fucked up. It’s so fucked up, because Eddie knows that Richie would rather fling himself off the roof than do anything without Eddie’s permission. He won’t even touch below Eddie’s fucking neck without asking him if it’s okay. It means a lot to Eddie, of course, but it’s also frustrating as hell. So he decides he’s going to do something about it.

Surprisingly, Eddie initiates the conversation when they’re not even kissing. They’re curled up together on Richie’s couch, watching _High School Musical 2_ with the volume turned down almost all the way because it’s well past midnight and Richie has already received enough noise complaints from the old couple next door. They can hear it well enough anyway, the only other sounds being the soft hum of cars passing on the street below them, and the melodic chirp of crickets drifting in through the half-open living room window. Richie’s head is in Eddie’s lap, his limbs starfished out over the cushions, chest rising and falling softly beneath the blanket covering them both, not quite asleep but seemingly close to it. As Eddie’s fingers card through Richie’s dark curls, he wonders how they managed for so long without doing anything like this.

“Rich?” He’s feeling brave tonight for no particular reason. Maybe it’s a completely inappropriate time, or maybe the serenity of the situation is helping add to Eddie’s rising confidence. Either way, he’s confronting this right now, and he really can’t see himself backing down.

Richie hums in recognition.

“I want you to touch me.”

Richie is suddenly very much awake, which Eddie supposes was his intention, despite how fucking _adorable_ Richie looks while he’s teetering on the edge of consciousness. Eyes now wide open, Richie looks for a moment like he’s just choked on his own tongue, then he scrambles out of Eddie’s lap and into an upright position on the couch beside him.

“Y-You… I touch you. I touch you all the time. I’m touching you right now, see?” To prove his point, Richie digs his fingertips into Eddie’s ribs, forcing a squeak of laughter out of the smaller man. Eddie slaps at Richie’s hands in an attempt to fend him off, trying to keep his giggles to a minimum.

“I don’t mean—” Eddie stifles his laughter against Richie’s chest. “— like that. I want… I want you to _touch_ me.”

Richie retracts his hands at the emphasised word, realisation flickering across his irises like the bulb of a broken flashlight, fragmented in the darkness. He doesn’t look scared, or disgusted, per se; he just looks really fucking unsure. Like, he’s doing the whole Concerned Richie Face that Eddie hates so much. It’s the same face he makes when Eddie tells him to stop kissing him so he can subtly adjust his trousers and think very un-sexy thoughts to will away his imminent hard-on. 

Now, with that same goddamn expression on his face, Richie says uncertainly, “You mean, like, your dick?”

Eddie swallows hard. “Yes.” And, because Richie is often not the sharpest tool in the shed, he adds, “And… and other places. Wherever you want.”

There’s silence for a grand total of five seconds, before Richie’s snorting incredulously. Even the ridiculous sound has an edge of uncertainty to it. “Eds, I… yeah, I mean, if you want me to. That would be pretty fucking great.”

“Okay.” Eddie chews on his bottom lip. He can feel Richie’s eyes burning holes into his skin, but he honestly would rather die than look over at him.

“Do you mean, like… right now?”

Eddie shrugs. He’s staring down at his lap, trying his very hardest to redirect the blood rushing to his cheeks and, embarrassingly, to another part of his body that could potentially put him in a dangerous situation very fucking soon. “If you want.”

“What do you mean, ‘if you want’?” Richie sounds hesitant. “You’re asking _me_ to touch _you._ You have to give me more to work with here, Spaghetti.”

So, with a not-so-subtle roll of his eyes, Eddie gives him a hell of a lot more to work with.

He really can’t say he knows what he’s doing at all, so he wings it and hopes for the best, which is something that cannot be said about most things in his life. No amount of comprehensive pre-planning could have prepared him for this situation, anyway. He’s starting to learn that impulsivity is sort of critical in an intimate setting… when it comes to swapping spit, at least. Making out isn’t something you analyse from every angle beforehand, mapping out exactly whose lips are going to go where at what time, and whose hands are going to touch which body parts. Preparation and organisation isn’t what gave Eddie the purple bruise just below his collar; Richie did, and Richie is the least organised person Eddie has ever met in his life. He still sometimes wonders why he even likes the guy.

So, for all of the above reasons and more, Eddie acts on a lust-fuelled impulse and launches himself at Richie. He shoves the taller man’s chest, knocking him down against the arm of the couch and climbing over him, knees on either side of his stomach. Richie’s dark eyes are wide with astonishment, and what Eddie can only describe as anticipation, framed by his lopsided glasses, and the sight alone makes it difficult for Eddie to fight back a goofy smile.

“Your eyes are pretty.” Without any idea what horny fucking demon has possessed him this evening, Eddie reaches down to trace a finger across the bridge of Richie’s nose. Richie goes cross-eyed trying to follow it, lips parting and eyebrows raising as he watches Eddie in disbelief. Yeah, Eddie supposes he can't blame him. He’d be watching himself in disbelief, too.

Then Eddie brings his hand to Richie’s cheek and kisses him, hard, with fervour and meaning. And Richie kisses back harder. Their legs tangle together and their chests press flush against each other, and Eddie is still absolutely terrified. But this time, he’s determined. And, admittedly, very desperate.

It’s sort of unsettling, in a way, that Richie hasn’t said a word in far too long, but Eddie is too busy being _impulsive_ to really pay that too much mind. He knows that in no world would Richie ask him to stop kissing him, but he still makes sure he softens the press of their lips every now and again to silently allow Richie an escape if he so happens to need one. Thankfully, he doesn’t, only pushing his fingers up under Eddie’s shirt and dipping his tongue into Eddie’s mouth feverishly, like he’s the oxygen he needs to breathe.

After a few minutes of that, Eddie tentatively lets his lips trail down to Richie’s jaw, peppering kisses lightly at first, then grazing his teeth against the rough patch of skin right below Richie’s ear. Usually it’s Richie who kisses down Eddie’s neck, to his collarbone, and sometimes across his chest and stomach, if he happens to be shirtless, but this time it’s Eddie’s turn. He understands now why Richie loves doing this to him so much. Richie’s sharp exhale when Eddie licks over his pulse point is a reward in itself.

“Eddie. I’m—”

“Is this okay?”

Eddie has never had to check if Richie’s okay before. It’s always the other way around, and it’s always a no-brainer, anyway. Richie has made it quite clear that he’d do just about anything sex-wise with Eddie, a cryptic yet regular confession which always leaves Eddie flushed and his brain running a mile a minute, using every last braincell in its vicinity to force away any obscene thoughts.

“It’s more than fucking okay.” Richie’s voice is low and gravelly, and Eddie’s stomach tightens. “Just… um… you’ve never done stuff with anyone before, have you?”

Eddie snorts, using his hands splayed across Richie’s torso to push himself upright. His heart is jack-hammering against the walls of his chest. “ _Stuff?”_

“You know what I mean. You’ve never had sex. Never been touched by someone.” Richie quickly corrects himself when Eddie pouts, “Like, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just…” Richie pulls himself up as well, body sliding out from underneath Eddie so that he’s propped against the arm of the couch. Eddie leans forward and folds his arms across Richie’s knees, gazing up at him with what he hopes is some kind of seductive expression. Richie just sighs, so it obviously isn’t seductive enough.

“Eds, I want your first time to be special, okay?” Richie reaches across to brush gentle fingertips over Eddie’s cheek and down to his jaw. It’s such a sweet gesture, Eddie almost forgets his frustration and lets his eyes flutter closed. “Not here on the couch like a couple of fucking dogs in heat.”

They both laugh a little at that, Eddie nervously ducking his head to hide his blush. He knows Richie’s right, and he trusts him not to do anything that either of them might regret, but he can’t help groaning and worming his way further up Richie’s chest.

“I thought you _wanted_ to do this.”

“Of course I do, dumbass.” Richie keeps his voice light and soft, which would annoy Eddie in any other setting, but right now, it slows his racing heart and calms him enough to think relatively rationally. “I just don’t want you to rush into anything. Let’s go to my room, and you can tell me what you want to do.”

Eddie’s cheeks are lighting up like glow sticks now, he’s sure of it, but Richie is either too distracted or the room is too dark for him to notice. He slides his arms down under Eddie’s thighs, and Eddie reflexively wraps his legs around Richie’s waist, fingers twisting into the back of Richie’s shirt so the taller man can stand up easily with Eddie clinging to him like a little, tanned monkey. It’s all a bit romance-movie-esque, but it’s also, like, _incredibly_ hot. Eddie really can’t help himself when he finds one of his hands latching onto Richie’s scrawny bicep, feeling the muscle (or rather, lack thereof) rippling beneath his fingertips. Richie has about zero percent body fat, and like two percent muscle, and Eddie honestly wonders why he’s so attracted to this fucking noodle of a man. Maybe _Richie’s_ nickname should be Spaghetti, not vice versa.

It only takes a few seconds to walk to Richie’s room, since his apartment isn’t the biggest place on Earth, which isn’t a problem for Eddie at all, seeing as he’s now being lowered carefully onto familiar, faded blue sheets. Richie is grinning down at him, all crooked teeth and wonky glasses and the biggest, warmest eyes Eddie has probably ever seen in his life, and for a second he actually loses his breath because holy _shit._ He’s so completely torn between seeing Richie as the hottest man alive, and the most adorable fucking person in existence. Maybe he can just be both at once, which totally isn’t fair, but… it’s hard to complain.

Then Richie is climbing on top of him, and all rational thought is gone once more.

“Eddie.” The way Richie says his name is like a child discovering a brand new word. His eyes are alight with adoration and excitement, and suddenly Eddie is filled to the brim with a warm buzz of elation. Richie is already making him feel so good, and he hasn’t even _touched_ him yet.

“Richie.” Eddie mimics Richie’s tone, his hands falling into place around Richie’s shoulders. Richie beams, and pecks him softly on the nose.

“Tell me what you want, Eddie my love.”

Holy _fuck._ Eddie’s heart is aching, his body is aching, his _throat_ is aching, because for some reason the way Richie just called him that is making him want to bawl his eyes out.

And in spite of the lump swelling in his throat, he says the next three words with such ease and such unfaltering confidence, the likes of which he never would have expected from himself in a million years.

“Richie… touch me.”

Eddie isn’t sure who kisses who first, but what he _is_ sure of is the fact that, whilst being as gentle as always, Richie is not allowing _any_ distance between their bodies. Eddie is engulfed in the feeling of _Richie;_ Richie’s mouth hot and wet against his own, Richie’s careful hands rubbing circles into his hips, Richie’s stomach and chest and legs pressed flush against him. Richie’s warm, musky aroma surrounds him, overwhelming his senses, flooding every orifice in Eddie’s body until he feels like he’s suffocating; suffocating in _Richie._ He thinks that he’d gladly die like this, beneath the man he adores with everything he is, with every ounce of life and strength in him.

Richie kisses Eddie until he’s dizzy, until he has to pull away for air, nuzzling his face into Richie’s shoulder and heaving oxygen into his lungs. He can feel Richie’s fingers scratching at the hair at the nape of his neck and, oh god, he can feel the outline of Richie’s erection against his thigh, and it’s making his stomach flood with heat.

Richie kisses at the bottom of his jaw, taking Eddie’s face in both his hands and gazing at him with glazed-over eyes. “Are you sure, Eddie?”

Eddie has never been more sure of anything in his life.

“Yes.”

“And you know you can tell me to stop at any time?”

Eddie knows. He trusts Richie whole-heartedly, with his entire being.

“I know.”

Richie kisses his cheek now, feather-light. “And we don’t have to go all the way tonight. We have all the time in the world.”

Eddie nods, swallowing thickly.

_All the time in the world._

Seemingly satisfied, Richie grins and plants a huge, sloppy kiss against Eddie’s lips, shocking him slightly. He tugs at the collar of Eddie’s shirt. “Can I take this off?”

Eddie doesn’t answer him, and instead begins to peel the shirt off himself, making Richie laugh and watch him in awe for a second, before finally reaching down to help slip it over his head. Richie has seen Eddie shirtless countless times before. They’ve both seen each other bare-chested, and Richie has practically worshipped the soft pudge of Eddie’s stomach a thousand times over, but it still feels just as exhilarating to Eddie every damn time. Curse Richie Tozier and his stupid, beautiful mouth.

Richie wastes no time in getting that very same stupid mouth all over the smooth, tanned skin of Eddie’s torso. He kisses all the way from the base of his throat, down to the light trail of hair leading into his shorts, making Eddie gasp and involuntarily buck his hips up. Richie laughs against Eddie’s belly button, and blows a quick raspberry there, making Eddie squirm and grab Richie’s arm.

“You want this so fucking bad, don’t you, Eds?”

Fuck. Eddie has never really been one for dirty talk. He always gets furious at Richie when something even slightly explicit tumbles from his trashmouth, hissing and scolding him until the taller man is almost in tears from laughing so hard. Richie, like the gentleman he is, often likes to point out how Eddie curses by far the most frequently out of the pair of them, but Eddie is quick to silence Richie with a palm over his mouth, to defend his honour, which always leads to some sort of half-assed wrestling match. Eddie has discovered a constant, though, throughout his weeks of experimentation: most of their wrestling matches usually end in very aggressive, very sloppy makeout sessions on the floor, which Eddie is very much not opposed to… when he takes out of consideration the amount of fucking filth they’re probably rolling around in.

So, yeah, Eddie makes it quite clear that he does not appreciate Richie’s smartass, obscene comments, which is what makes him wonder now how the _fuck_ that very same trashmouth is making heat coil in his stomach and his fingers twist into the sheets beneath him.

“Oh, you like that?” Richie doesn’t say this in a suggestive tone, but rather, in a genuinely surprised way, like he hadn’t expected such a positive reaction. He kisses over Eddie’s belly button again, dipping his tongue into it briefly and relishing in the shiver it sends up Eddie’s spine.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. His cheeks are burning once more, which is becoming quite an embarrassing recurrence, but Richie seems to think the opposite, because he’s climbing up Eddie’s chest and nuzzling his nose into both of Eddie’s rosy cheeks in turn. Eddie swears he almost fucking _purrs._

“R-Rich,” Eddie breathes, and Richie pulls away from him momentarily to stare down into his eyes.

“You okay?”

Licking his lips, Eddie blinks up at Richie several times before nodding dazedly. “Can you take these off?” he murmurs, and it’s more of a demand than a question, really, as he reaches a hand down to toy with the waistband of his shorts. Richie’s lips part just a little and his eyes flicker down to where Eddie’s hand is resting in the curve of his own hip. 

“On it.”

And Richie really _is_ on it, because he grins and sinks back down Eddie’s body, and within a few seconds, he has Eddie shorts bunched at his ankles. He’s staring, Eddie’s not fucking blind. He’s staring at the prominent bulge in Eddie’s underwear, and it’s really taking a lot of Eddie’s willpower not to buck his hips up towards Richie. Towards his face… his mouth… 

Okay, that thought _really_ makes his head spin.

Richie ignores his obvious problem for now, much to Eddie’s dismay, and instead presses a quick, chaste kiss to the inside of one of Eddie’s thighs. Much to his humiliation, Eddie’s legs part slightly without his consent and a soft moan rolls off his tongue. He bites down on his lip.

“Fuck, Eddie. You’re so beautiful.” Richie’s voice is all breathy and dripping with arousal, and Eddie can’t help but feel a jolt of pride join the swarm of butterflies in his stomach. Richie feels good when he’s making Eddie feel good — he’s made that clear enough already — and no one has _ever_ made Eddie feel quite like _this_ before.

Richie’s clothed shoulder is pressing into Eddie’s knee, and it triggers something animalistic in Eddie’s brain that has him clawing at the fabric. “Get this off,” he croaks, and Richie laughs shakily, wasting absolutely no time in tugging his button-up shirt off over his head and flinging it to the other side of the room, knocking his glasses flying in the process. Eddie admires his skeletal figure, eyes raking over the sharp jut of his shoulders and collarbone, following the dusting of hair on his chest all the way down to his bony hips. Richie is staring down at Eddie like he wants to eat him up or something, and Eddie is beginning to familiarise himself with that very same feeling. Richie’s skin is deliciously pale and smooth beneath Eddie’s splayed fingertips. He drags his hands lightly over Richie’s nipples, which pulls a surprised gasp from the man above him.

“ _Dude_.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to laugh now, all high-pitched and unsteady. “ _Dude_?” he mocks.

“Ugh.” Richie buries his face into the softness of Eddie’s stomach, grinning against him. “You have no idea what you do to me, Eddie Kaspbrak. No fucking idea.”

Eddie sort of lies there in a giddy trance for a few seconds, just basking in Richie’s words and Richie’s presence above him, anchoring him down into the bed like that’s where he’s belonged his whole life. It’s a terrifying thought, especially since just a few weeks ago, Eddie had not one clue that he was even attracted to guys. He sometimes feels like he’s wasted his teenage years living in oblivion, living in fear, living in his mother’s overbearing arms, when in fact, none of that could really be counted as “living” at all. Instead of wasting all those tears and all those sleepless nights wondering what was so terribly wrong with him, he could have been _actually living._

And maybe it’s just Richie; maybe Richie is the only person on God’s green Earth who will ever be able to lift Eddie’s soul right up into the clouds, both of their lungs expanding and retracting with overwhelming adoration, hearts beating in sync like the steady tick of two old analog clocks. Hell, if this is what _living_ feels like, Eddie wouldn’t mind shouting it from the rooftops, yelling Richie’s name at the stars and watching them twinkle in eager agreement. He wants to live like this every single fucking day for the rest of his life, if that isn’t too much to ask. He wants to live right here in Richie’s arms.

Eddie really can’t think of anything worse than bursting into tears right now beneath Richie. He’s sure that no matter how much he reassures him that they’re _happy tears,_ and pleads with him to keep going, Richie will look at him in horror and concern and refuse to touch him. And Eddie can’t have that, so he swallows the lump in his throat and kisses Richie instead.

Richie smiles into the kiss, which makes their teeth clash together, but Eddie really can't bring himself to care. He cares even less, in fact, when Richie’s hips twitch instinctively down into his own. He bites back a whimper and lifts his ass off the bed in an attempt to chase the warmth of Richie’s body as he separates them and almost immediately mumbles a rushed apology. Eddie rolls his eyes.

“I’m not gonna fucking break, dumbass.”

Richie’s eyebrows furrow. “Eds—”

“ _Please_ .” Okay, Eddie never thought he’d be fucking _begging_ to be touched, but here he is in all his impatient, horny glory. “Just… Richie, I swear to god I will do it myself if you don’t in the next five seconds.”

Richie just looks at him for a moment, expression bordering dangerously on his Concerned Richie Face, as if he’s trying to disassemble Eddie’s words and emotions to search for any telltale signs of hesitation lingering just below the surface. Eddie can practically see the cogs turning in his brain.

Then Richie is grinding back down against Eddie, and it’s apparent that he’s made up his mind.

“ _Fuck_ .” Eddie bites down on his bottom lip until he tastes metal. Richie’s moving slowly, but it’s good like this, because Eddie can actually _feel_ them flush against each other, and every drag of his cock against Richie’s, and it’s just so fucking _hot_ . In spite of the three layers of clothes still separating them, he’s going absolutely insane. It feels dirty, but not a _bad_ dirty. Not dirty in the way that makes him want to scrub his skin raw under boiling hot water. These aren’t his mother’s words echoing in his brain, they’re his own, and it feels fucking _great_.

Eddie’s arms wind around Richie’s shoulders and his hands search the broad expanse of smooth skin on his back until they tangle in his hair. Richie groans and ruts down harder against Eddie, who lets out a breathy whimper.

“Is this okay?” Richie uses one hand to gently push back the hair falling into Eddie’s eyes, and reaches the other one down between them to rub over the bulge in Eddie’s boxers. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever nodded so fast in his life.

Under any other circumstances, if he wasn’t so aroused, Eddie is sure he would fucking hate the idea of another human being seeing his dick. It’s a terrifying thought, even while horny out of his mind and pretty much begging for it. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with his dick, or that it’s particularly _small_ or _odd-looking_ ; it’s just not a situation that he ever thought he would willingly put himself in. Except… well… yeah, here he is. He wouldn’t change _this_ situation if his life depended on it, and that’s coming from someone who would have flinched at the mere concept of sex a few weeks ago.

Richie’s thumbs slip under the waistband of Eddie’s boxers and he shudders. “You sure?”

“Fuck, yes.”

So Richie starts to inch his underwear down his thighs, and Eddie inhales sharply as his cock bobs free, already leaking against his stomach. He’s almost embarrassed by how obviously turned on he is, which is made even more evident now that he’s entirely fucking _naked_.

“Eds, tell me now if you don’t want me to touch your dick.” Richie’s eyes are lust-filled, flicking from Eddie’s heated face, down to the general area of Eddie’s crotch, then back up again. A violent shiver racks Eddie’s body.

“Richie, if you _don’t_ touch my dick right now, I will literally leave.”

So Richie takes that as all the permission he needs, and Eddie makes some sort of weird hissing, moaning sound as Richie takes his cock into his hand. He’s way too far gone to be humiliated by that right now.

“Holy shit, holy shit, Rich,” Eddie babbles, fingers enclosing tightly around Richie’s wrist. He watches in fascination as their hands move in sync, Richie’s fingers sliding up and down the shaft of Eddie’s dick, thumb collecting precome every time it flicks over the head. And, well… _holy fucking shit._

Eddie’s touched himself before, obviously, so he really thought he knew how it was supposed to feel. But _this… nothing_ could have prepared him for _this._ No one _ever_ told Eddie that the sensation of someone else’s fingers wrapped around his dick would feel so _different_ , and about a hundred times better than his own hand. _Why_ did no one ever tell him? Was he really just about to go through life thinking that jerking himself off was the absolute peak of pleasure? This is deception at its finest. His life up to this moment has been one long, depressing lie.

Or, maybe, the universe was just waiting for Richie Tozier to come along.

Eddie tears his gaze away from his own cock to look up at Richie, who’s already staring down, marvelling at him. His mouth is hanging a bit open and his hair is all in his eyes, and he looks so fucking stupid but also so annoyingly hot that Eddie has the fleeting urge to take a picture to capture this breathtaking moment in time. Richie’s lips spread into a lopsided grin when their eyes meet, and Eddie thinks he feels his soul leave his body.

“Shit, Richie, so good,” Eddie moans as quietly as his libido will allow him to. He can’t see, can’t hear, can’t think anything other than _Richie,_ and it’s embarrassing how close he is just from a few minutes of being jerked off. He runs his hands up Richie’s biceps. “Look at you, you’re so fucking hot. Literal love of my life, Rich. _Fuck_.”

The rhythm of Richie’s hand stutters just for a second, but then he regains momentum and speeds up until Eddie’s almost fucking crying with how good it feels and how _in love_ he is.

Shit. He’s in _love_.

He _would_ unpack that further, but now’s probably not the best time, because there’s heat coiling in his stomach and his hips are bucking wildly into Richie’s hand without his permission; there’s just a _lot_ going on.

Richie is breathing hard, rutting his own hips against Eddie’s thigh, flicking his wrist just right over Eddie’s cock. “Are you gonna come, Eds?”

Eddie whimpers. “I’m— yeah, I’m gonna come, Richie.”

“Shit,” Richie gasps, and lunges forward to close the gap between their lips. He licks into Eddie’s mouth, and it’s all gross and sloppy and wet, but it just makes Eddie kiss him harder and grab fistfuls of his hair as he chases his climax.

“Fuck, fuck, please—”

“I know, baby, it’s okay,” Richie breathes against his mouth, nibbling on his bottom lip, moving his hand impossibly faster. “It’s okay, come for me. Come on. You can do it, Eds, I’ve got you.”

Eddie comes with a strangled grunt of Richie’s name, scrabbling at his back to try and pull them closer, thighs shaking and clenching together as Richie jerks him through it. Richie presses kisses across his cheeks and down the bridge of his nose and along his jaw, making Eddie arch his back and his breath hitch in his throat. He’s overwhelmed with pleasure, exhaustion, _happiness._ He’s so happy, it fucking _hurts._

He’s not thinking rationally when he blurts out, “God, I love you Richie. You’re so good. So fucking good to me.” Tears are welling in his eyes, and he tries to blink them away before Richie sees, tries to pass it off in his own mind as some sort of post-orgasm emotional breakdown. He knows it's more than that, though. It’s so much more than that.

“Thank you.” His mouth is moving again and slurred words are spilling out without his brain’s consent. “Thank you so fucking much. You’re perfect. Thank you, Richie.”

Richie slides his hand off Eddie’s softening dick and wipes it roughly on the sheets beside him. He flops back on the bed, nuzzling his face into Eddie’s neck. “Why are you thanking me, dumbass? I love making you feel good. It’s my favourite thing in the world. No thanks needed.”

Eddie is fully crying now, tears collecting on his cheeks and rolling down into his mouth, and he’s so fucking relieved that Richie hasn’t noticed yet. He’s too busy carefully sucking a mark onto the base of Eddie’s throat, a gesture that makes Eddie’s already fragile heart clench with affection.

“No, you don’t get it. You _saved_ me, Rich.” Eddie bites back a sob, but not very subtly, because now Richie is propping himself up on his elbows and gazing down at Eddie in concern. “You saved me from living the wrong way. I don’t even wanna think about what I would do without you. You… you’re showing me how to live the _right_ way, Richie. You’re… _fuck_.”

Eddie sniffs violently at the same time Richie leans their foreheads together and swipes his thumb across Eddie’s cheek, through the tears pooled there. His eyes are shining with moisture of their own, and Eddie is hit with a sudden pang of guilt when he feels Richie’s hard-on pressed against his hip. 

“Eds, are you okay?”

Eddie laughs wetly. “I’m so fucking good, man. I’m the best I’ve ever been.” He reaches a hand down between them to fumble with the button of Richie’s jeans, but Richie takes his hand and threads their fingers together gently.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I _want_ to do that.” Eddie tries to wriggle his hand from Richie’s grasp, but his grip is firm and unrelenting.

“You’re crying,” Richie points out, and Eddie chokes on another laugh.

“I’m _happy._ ”

He _is_ happy. _So_ happy. Richie makes him feel like a balloon filled with helium, drifting up into the sky, weaving and dancing among the clouds. Eddie has never loved anyone quite like this in his whole life, but this is so fucking _easy_ . Loving Richie is so _easy_ , easier than he ever thought it would be. Eddie wants to spend the rest of his life loving him. He wants to _die_ loving him.

So he tells him, “I love you, Richie.”

Richie’s breath audibly catches in his throat, despite this not being the first time he’s heard that phrase tonight. This is, undeniably, the most serious and meaningful of all of Eddie’s impulsive confessions, and Eddie can tell Richie is well aware of that.

“You don’t have to s—”

“I love you too.” Richie laughs, sounding shocked by his own words, but Eddie can tell he means every single one of them. His heart does a somersault in his chest. “I love you so fucking much, Eddie. You’re amazing. You’re so fucking amazing, really.”

Then Eddie is pouncing on him, kissing him and crying all over him, and it’s probably really gross but he _knows_ Richie doesn’t care. Richie finally releases his hand and scratches his nails lightly down Eddie’s back, fingertips ghosting dangerously close to his bare ass, making Eddie shiver. He’s still all too aware of Richie’s very hard dick poking him in the thigh, and tries for a second time to snake a hand down to undo Richie’s pants.

Richie bites down affectionately on Eddie’s bottom lip. “Eds, I can—”

“Just let me. Please? I want to.”

Richie seems to consider this for a moment, eyes raking over Eddie’s tear-stained cheeks and half-lidded eyes until, finally, he’s nodding and tugging down his pants. Eddie doesn’t even hesitate to wrap a hand around him, relishing in the moan Richie breathes against the shell of his ear.

It doesn’t last long. They kiss until their lips are too swollen to kiss anymore, and even then, Eddie trails his mouth down Richie’s neck, nipping at his skin softly so as not to leave any visible marks. When Richie’s breaths start to come in short, sharp gasps, and his hips twitch up into Eddie’s hand, Eddie speeds up his pace. He cups Richie’s jaw, staring him deep in the eyes, admiring the way his eyelashes swoop against his cheeks, kissing the freckles scattered across his nose like stars. He’s so fucking beautiful. He’s so fucking perfect.

“You’re fucking beautiful.”

Richie grins, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m gonna come, Eds.”

Eddie jerks him all the way to orgasm, and Richie groans and spills over his hand, immediately murmuring an apology when Eddie grimaces at the sticky mess. 

“It’s fine,” Eddie reassures him, pulling a trembling Richie against his chest with his clean hand. “It’s fine, I promise. I love you.”

Richie's smile takes up his whole face, his eyes fluttering closed. “I love you too.” He pauses for a moment, then, “Damn, that feels nice to say.”

Eddie laughs softly and kisses Richie’s forehead. “You’re cute.”

“ _We’re_ cute.”

Eddie feels an overwhelming sense of pride bubbling in the pit of his stomach and up into his throat, until it’s just resting on the tip of his tongue, forming itself into two terrifying words that Eddie realises he’s never actually said aloud before. He’s turned them over in his head a million times, but never has he actually uttered them. And, dear god, he never planned to, but for some reason, it just feels appropriate.

So he says, surprisingly sure of himself, “I’m gay.”

And Richie simply hums in response, pulling him closer. “Oh, thank god. I deadass thought you were straight this whole time.”

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously.” Richie runs a hand down to Eddie’s ass and squeezes lightly, making Eddie squirm. “Especially when you were, like, begging me to touch your dick. That really sold it for me.”

Eddie hits his shoulder, giggling madly, which makes Richie laugh even louder and shove him back. Then Eddie collapses on top of him, and neither of them even have to say anything else because everything is just so _right._

As corny as it sounds, and as much as Eddie despises cliché metaphors, he really feels like he’s the final, missing part of an overcomplicated puzzle with, like, _way_ too many pieces. All his life, he’s been trying to fit in where he doesn’t belong; where his shape is either too big or too small or just too _different_ to fall effortlessly into place. For the longest time, he was sure he didn’t really belong anywhere, or with anyone, and it _hurt_ . It _hurt_ not knowing what was so wrong with him, and not knowing how to fix it, when in reality, there was never anything that needed fixing in the first place.

He just needed someone to love him. And he has that now. He fucking _has that._

As Eddie slots himself against the curve of Richie’s chest and the cradle of his arms, he can’t imagine fitting anywhere else.

**Author's Note:**

> ok but i have cute domestic ideas for a part 3 is that a good idea or no


End file.
